“Oh no George, that isn’t how it works at all.” The newscaster replied.
“No?” Asked George looking puzzled. “So how do we go about confronting her? Should I try reporting it to the press?”
“No not at all. As of now, you must trust this information to nobody George. You see, most of those that are supposed to represent us, those that pontificate about how we should live our lives and those that enforce the laws of the land, are actually the worst of the lot. You can trust none of them George. The Lady Mayoress will never be charged. She has too many friends in high places. She dines with the Chief Constable. No. The only way to do it is to remove her from society ourselves, if you know what I mean.”
The newscaster replied giving a nod and a wink as he leaned forward towards George. He rocked back in his chair, shocked at how the newscaster appeared to emerge from the television and shocked at what he thought the man was implying.
“Kill her?” George whispered.
“Kill her George. It is the only sensible option.” The newscaster replied.
“I’m not really the killing type. I’ve never killed anyone. I don’t think I could. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m not the man for the job after all.” George said.
“Oh you certainly are George. You will be doing a huge service to the city you love. You were born to be the man that cleans up the town. Think of yourself as the sheriff in the Old West. He had to kill or there would be chaos right?”
“But we’re not in the Old West, we’re in Manchester and we have a police force and the proper people to deal with this sort of thing.” George replied.
“As I said George. They can’t be trusted. We need people like you. People with integrity and a love of the rule of law. People that can make the hard decisions because they are the right ones. Special, select people George. You are one of those people and I trust you to rise to the challenge.”
“But how? How would I go about killing someone? Anyone? Do you issue me a gun or something? I have no idea where to start with something like that.” George stammered.
He slumped back in his chair, his head spinning and confused. The television was talking to him. The television wanted him to murder the Lady Mayoress. This was all so wrong and he seriously needed a lie down and a nap. But then, this man was a newscaster. Probably with some secret government agency. He sounded so plausible and of course we couldn’t have the Lady Mayoress stealing from the good people of the city. That would never do. But how?
He looked around his messy, one bedroom apartment hoping for an inkling of a clue as to what was going on. The room was still decorated in the same 70s wallpaper, and the furniture all came from that same era. It was cheap and cheerful then. Now it was just cheap. The cheerful caught the last bus out a long time ago. Apart from the new shiny television he was sat in front of, there was little in the house to inspire George with an answer.
“It will be easy George. You will need to trust me. You look tired and I understand this is all a bit of a shock. If you are not capable of the task, I will understand. What with you being so out of shape and disabled. Perhaps we made a mistake after all.” The newscaster said solemnly.
“But how? How will I go about it? Invite her for tea? Hardly.” George snapped back as he felt his pride taking a bit of a kicking.
The newscaster smiled gently through the screen. “You put up some shelves last week in the kitchen. A fine job you made of them too.”
“Yes, yes I did. You think I should go round and offer to do some handyman jobs for her?” George asked.
“Oh certainly not, not at all. But you left your claw hammer on the kitchen counter I believe.” The newscaster replied.
“I did, yes.” George said.
“That will slip neatly into your overcoat pocket George. A perfect weapon. Nobody is going to question an elderly gent carrying a hammer to fix his kitchen shelves. Guns are so messy and complicated George. Go and get the hammer. See how it feels.” The newscaster said.
George went into the kitchen and took the hammer from the counter top. He’d only bought it a couple of weeks ago to bang in a few nails. They would hold his new shelf to the wall and give him a bit more room for his pots and pans. He was no handyman by any stretch of the imagination and he knew it. The shelf still stood empty. George wasn’t brave enough to actually test it with anything of any weight. He shifted the claw hammer in his hand and flexed his grip around it. He tested a swing at an imaginary head in front of him. A few more swings from each side and he felt he had his death swing down to perfection. Yes he could easily take out some old lady with this. He was actually something of an expert it seemed. He made his way back into the living room and sat back in front of the television.
“Try it in your jacket pocket George. See how it feels.” The newscaster said.
George stood up and walked over to the sofa where his long overcoat lay. It was old, like most things George owned, and baggy. He slid it on and lowered the hammer into the right pocket. The pocket was deep and the hammer disappeared.
“Perfect. The Lady Mayoress will be home on her own at nine o clock. All you have to do is ring the bell and smack her in the head when she answers. No small talk. No introductions. Just whack her on the head and walk away. Simple really. Maybe too simple for someone of your skills, but I’m sure you’ll be happy with the results.” The newscaster said.
“Nine o clock tonight? You want me to do it tonight? But I’m not ready. I’m not prepared. I thought we might have a plan of some sort.” George gasped.
“George relax. You do have a plan. You ring the bell and hit her in the head when she answers the door. That sounds like a fine plan to me. Don't you agree? Then all that money will be going back where it belongs. To people that deserve it.” The newscaster replied.
“But I’m not ready. It’s already half past eight and I haven’t had supper.” George stammered.
The newscasters face turned stern and he glared at George. “Don’t be a coward George. This isn’t what we agreed is it? You have half an hour to get there and do the job. Then you can come home and fix yourself a pleasant supper in front of the television and relax. You’ll feel wonderful once the job is done I can assure you. Now get going, let’s not lose the moment.”
George stood and stared at the television. He felt almost in a trance as he slid the hammer back into the coat pocket and turned to walk out of his small flat.
He arrived in a leafy suburb less than twenty minutes later. He’d picked up his flat cap as he left the house and now he was tugging the brim down almost over his face as he made his way to the home of the Lady Mayoress. The house stood in its own grounds down a long gravel drive. A car had just left some minutes before George got to the driveway. The newscaster had some good information, George thought. She must certainly be on her own.
He shuffled down the driveway attempting not to make too much noise as he stepped on the crunching gravel. In a few minutes he was stood at the front door. He saw the bell-push on the fine oak paneled and stained glass door. He pressed the bell and heard it chime some distance inside the house. Through the stained glass panels he saw someone approaching. He had never actually seen the Lady Mayoress in real life, only pictures in the newspapers, but as the door opened and he saw the woman before him, he knew instantly it was her.
“May I help you?” the woman asked as she watched George reaching into his coat pocket. She followed his hand as he drew out the claw hammer and gasped. George lifted the hammer high above his own head ready to smash it down on the Lady Mayoress. Their eyes were locked and her mouth slowly began to open. Not to shout but just to gasp. A large gulping, panicked gasp as she clutched her hands to her chest.
George stood with the hammer above his head as the Lady Mayoress fell to his feet desperately trying to press some life into her own heart.
George looked down at the woman as she now lay before him, eyes wide open in shock, but dead. Totally and utterly dead. George slowly lowered
the hammer and slid it back into his pocket stepping back from the lifeless body. He smiled. That was without a doubt the easiest murder he’d ever committed. The only murder he’d ever committed, he had to admit, but certainly easy.
Leaving the body at the open door with the porch light illuminating the scene George made his way back down the drive and followed the road home. He was ready for his supper.
Chapter Two
George had something of a spring in his step as he opened his front door. He felt almost light headed and jolly. He hadn’t felt like this in years he thought to himself as he almost bounced into the living room and took off his overcoat. Gazing back at him from the television, the newscaster was smiling. “A most excellent job George, most excellent. And you look well I might add.”
“Well, yes it was easier than I thought it would be though the woman helped of course by…” George tried to reply before he was interrupted. “Yes of course it was easy my friend, you are a natural. I have another one for you. I think you’re going to like this. Do sit down and relax though. You’ve had a busy evening.”
The newscaster went back to reading the news and even mentioned the police and ambulance had turned up at the home of the Lady Mayoress who had apparently fallen at her front door. Cause of death at the moment was unknown but it was believed she had heart problems. George listened as he prepared himself a pile of corned beef sandwiches and a mug of tea. This killing business certainly worked up an appetite.
George returned to his chair in front of the television with his plate of sandwiches and his cup of tea.
“This chap here George is contemptible. He has made a fortune selling drugs to our impressionable youth.” The newsreader said as a photograph of a local celebrity came up on the screen. “Quite a well-known celebrity with all his millions from his seedy night club ventures. Or so people think. What they don’t know is that he peddles cocaine to the poor saps that visit his clubs. Young people have died because of him George. Cut down in their youth because of this scum bag. The police won’t touch him of course. Far too precious. This is a job for us George. Are you up to the task?”
“Well, I’ve only just got home. I’ve barely eaten yet” George replied. The newscaster laughed. “No not now of course. Eat, relax, and enjoy the glory of your first killing. This one is for much later tonight. His club doesn’t close until the early hours.”
George worked his way through the mountain of sandwiches and wandered into the bathroom to run a nice hot bath. He felt he deserved it. As he lay in the bathtub he could picture the terrified face of the Lady Mayoress as she collapsed to the floor. It brought a big smile to his face.
With a fluffy towel wrapped around his podgy waist, George sat himself again in front of the TV.
“He always arrives at one in the morning. He always uses the fire escape at the back so he doesn’t have to face anybody hassling him for a free entry at the main door. Plus he gets a lot of young women seeking him out back there to get a fix. If he likes the look of them he’ll take them into his private room. No need to tell you what happens then. He’s a monster. We need to remove him George. You can do this. I know you can.” The newscaster continued now that George was back in front of the screen.
“But I’m not exactly a young girl am I? I don’t think he’d be fooled even on a dark fire escape.” George replied with a rueful chuckle.
“No, you just wait behind the garbage bins and follow him up the stairs. There won’t be anyone else there tonight. Just him, and of course you. Strike from behind and strike hard. He’ll never know what hit him. Now get dressed it is midnight.”
George got dressed and with the hammer stowed in his overcoat pocket he made his way into town. He pulled his flat cap down well over his eyes as he approached the large night club. At the front of the club a handful of teenagers were hassling the doormen to let them in. Arguing for I.D the doormen weren’t letting anyone past without it. The arguing and heckling continued as George made his way past and around to the rear of the building.
Sure enough, as the newscaster had said, there was a corner with two large commercial bins just set back from the old, rickety fire escape. George slid behind them and waited.
Bartrum Jones arrived just before one o clock as forecast. He was dressed in a long camel hair coat covering his expensive, handmade suit. His tipped black boots clattered against the metalwork of the steps on the fire escape. Long grey hair cascaded down the back of his jacket in a ponytail. This of course didn’t convince anyone that he wasn’t almost totally bald on top, though none of his staff or acquaintances would ever dare mention it. George slid out from behind the bins and pulled the hammer from his overcoat pocket. He strode urgently after Bartrum Jones onto the staircase.
Jones whipped around as he was halfway up the wobbly staircase and saw George. His eyes flared in terror as he saw the hammer in George’s hand.
”Who the hell are you man?” Jones snarled. “Got a bad fix? See my lawyer and if I nailed your daughter last week, that’s tough shit too.”
George took another step towards him and Jones raised one of his expensively clad feet towards him. As he did so, the other man’s hand slid on the handrail. Jones grabbed hard on the rail and it shook under his firm grasp almost enough to shake George from the stairs.
As George recovered his balance and prepared to advance in spite of the flailing foot, the section Bartrum Jones was gripping gave way. The old metal framework gave way at the rusted joint with a loud crack and he swung out with it over the concrete yard below. He stared in terror at George as his hand slid off the metalwork and he plunged to the ground below. The one leg he had in the air flipped him over in an almost somersault as his head impacted on the concrete below making a loud splat.
George stepped down gingerly from the staircase and stood over the twitching body of Bartrum Jones. Blood seeped freely from a large gash in the side of the nightclub owners head and eventually he stopped twitching, stopped breathing and as is the way of situations like this, he stopped living too.
George, certain that someone would have heard the commotion made a speedy exit from the yard and out onto the street. Remembering he had the hammer clenched tight in his hand he quickly dropped it into his pocket and pulled down his cap. He was almost skipping as he made his way past the front of the club and back on the road home. The doormen at the front were still arguing with the teenagers that had tried to get in without an I.D and didn’t seem to have noticed the noise around the back. George was confident and feeling a slow warm glow overcome him as he strode back to his house.
He’d rather liked the thump the body had made as it impacted on the concrete below. There was something satisfying about that sound.
“Two in one day. That is something of an achievement and it is noted George. You are, without a doubt, a natural.” The newscaster said as George set himself down in his little living room.
“Well, yes I suppose I am’” George replied. He was quite elated with his successful first day of his new job but it was incredibly tiring. As he gazed at the screen he could hear the voice of the newsreader in the distance and slowly fading as George slipped into a deep sleep.
When George awoke, early the next morning, he was startled to feel refreshed and alert. Since his attack all those years ago he had dreaded the mornings. He was used to waking up after a long night of tossing and turning with nightmares. He would ache in every conceivable part of his body and would have absolutely no interest in facing a new day save watching the television. Today was different. Today he felt alive, which was more than could be said for those two people last night he chortled to himself. Today he would go to the newsagents and buy the morning papers.
Returning home with an armful of newspapers he sat himself down at the small dining table with a mug of tea, to read. He knew what he was looking for and was delighted to find a picture of Bartrum Jones on page one of the “Daily Rally.”
The headline was loaded with shock and sadness
at the death of the great philanthropist with pictures of Jones meeting royalty and holding a small child in an African village.
George was a touch deflated the Lady Mayoress didn’t do better than page three and even then got little more than an acknowledgement that she had even existed.
He patiently cut out all the clippings and pinned them all on the kitchen wall. He stood back and felt proud. Proud and quite smug. The press hadn’t reported any of the criminal activities of the two. That of course was something for George and the newscaster to know obviously and not the common folk.
Chapter Three
“No time to rest on your laurels George, we have work to do. Do you go to church? No I don’t suppose you do.” The newscaster said as George was admiring his handiwork in the kitchen. George walked back into the living room and sat down in his armchair.
“No I was never a churchgoer. I always found it rather hypocritical and I of course always tried to be a good upstanding member of the community anyway.”
“Indeed you are and I would agree there is a touch of hypocrisy about this whole religion business. A lot of hypocrisy actually, which is why our next task is so important.”
“It is?” George asked.
“Yes it is. Have you ever heard of Father Manuel Spencer? He is the priest at the church of St. Mildred’s down the road.”
“No, I don’t think I have. If I was ever going to go to a church it wouldn’t be a Catholic one. They do have some strange ways them types.”
“Strange indeed and the hypocrisy is rife with Father Spencer.” The newscaster said. “Later this evening he will be on a flight to Ireland where he will be meeting his friend, the Bishop. From there he flies to the United States. Do you know why George?”
“I have no idea” George replied.
“In the United States he will take on a small church and also a large off-shore bank account. Between the good Father and the Bishop they have embezzled millions from the poor parishioners of Manchester. All those good kind people giving over their hard earned wages in the hopes of a place in heaven. Stolen. It makes my blood boil George, I don’t know about you.” The newscaster replied.
Thriller: Horror: Conceived (Mystery Suspense Thrillers) (Haunted Paranormal Short Story) Page 11